He nods and lets go of my hand. I miss his touch the moment he lets go. Turning, I grab my bag and my shoes and get the hell out of there, not slowing down until I get into my car. The tires slip in the muddy driveway, making my heart race all over again. I rev the engine, not breathing until the car lurches forward and makes it onto the gravel road. I speed away, and once a mile has been put between us, I slow, gripping the steering wheel tightly.
A hundred years ago, when the house was built, there was nothing around it. Over the years, the city has stretched its limits, and I’m not too far from civilization. I pull over in a Walmart parking lot and enter the crime scene address in my GPS.
My hands are shaking and my heart is beating too fast. I can’t show up like this. My mental state is all over the place, and this dress is terrible. Everyone will wonder, and more importantly, I won’t be able to concentrate if I’m freezing cold.
I put the car in park and lean back, closing my eyes. Images of the gargoyles flash before me and I sit up, still trying to make sense of it.
“They’re men in costumes,” I say to myself. “Movie-quality costumes. I’ll go back and arrest them for…for…uh…freaking me out.” I turn off the car and grab my bag.
“Which doesn’t explain how they flew.”
Rushing through the rain, I enter the store, well aware how fitting I am for a People of Walmart feature. Keeping my head down, I delve deeper inside, grabbing new socks, black leggings, an oversized sweatshirt, and a raincoat. I change in the restroom and toss the ugly black dress in the trash. I rake my fingers through my hair, then pull it into a messy braid over my shoulder.
I’m not one to put much effort into my appearance. If I had someone in my life to dress up for, it’d be a different story. But since my days are spent investigating grisly murders, I don’t see the point. Satisfied I look put together enough not to raise questions, I flip the hood up on the raincoat and go back to my car.
“And you didn’t see or hear anything out of the ordinary before you found the body?” I ask the clearly shaken twenty-one-year-old boy who found the body.
“The storm was pretty intense then,” he says, arms wrapped around himself. “All we heard was wind and rain.”
I motion to his camera. “Were you recording the whole time?”
“Yeah.” He brings the camera strap over his head and hands it to me. We’re standing under a gazebo in the park, just yards from the body. I rewind the last video he took, going back a few minutes before they stumbled upon the body. I watch first, and don’t see anything out of the ordinary. The screen is small and the filming is jumpy. I rewind again and bring the camera to my ear, listening to the background noise.
“I need to take your memory card for evidence,” I tell him.
“I, uh, have some personal photos of my girlfriend on there.” He meets my eyes then looks away.
“Is she over eighteen?”
“Yeah.”
“Then you’re fine. I’m not interested in them, just the clip of you finding the body.” I pop out the memory card and bag it. “You already gave your statement, so you’re free to go. I’ll make a copy of the clip and you can get this back in the morning.”
He gets off the bench, face still pale. “There’s one more thing,” he starts.
“What is it?”
“It’s probably nothing, but you asked if I saw anything out of the ordinary.”
“Did you?”
“No.” His brow furrows. “I smelled something. Like rotten eggs. We thought it was a backed-up sewer, you know, from all the rain. But I don’t smell it anymore. And it got stronger the closer we got to the…to…to him.”
I go back to the body, which appears to have been dragged from the parking lot into the tall grass.
“Stupid rain washed away all my blood,” Tiffany says, coming up next to me.
“There might not have been much from the start,” I tell her, crouching down. I pull on latex gloves and carefully move the victim’s head to the side to look at his neck. “Puncture wounds, just like the others.”
“What could have done this?”
“Who, Tiff, who.” I stand, feeling a little dizzy. For the first time, I feel unnerved. I’ve always been confident it was a who not a what when it comes to murderers. But after what happened tonight…
Nope. Not going there right now.
I move to the other side of the body, imagining myself as the killer. I’m in the middle of pulling out this poor guy’s bones, sucking up his blood with something in the process. It’s dark and stormy, and I’m not expecting anyone to interrupt me. Then two idiots trying to record a viral video stumble upon me.
Why don’t I attack them?
The man before me is tall, six foot two, and weighs one-seventy-five. According to his license, that is.
Maybe I’m startled…wounded from taking down this guy? So I run. Where do I go? I look around and my eyes land on a creek bed that’s been dry until tonight. It goes under a bridge and into a wooded walking area.
I’d go there. Hang back, and watch them discover the body, get enjoyment out of the shock and horror, maybe. Then I notice several pieces of bent grass and I know the perp went this way. Chances are he’s long gone by now, unless he’s one of those really fucked up psychos who gets off watching law enforcement inspect his handiwork. Though if he was jerking off as he watched us work, at least he’d leave evidence behind.
The rain has slowed to a fine mist, and the clouds are thinning. I carefully pick my way through the grass, moving next to what I think could be a trail and trying not to disturb potential evidence. I get to the bridge and notice footprints.
I click on my flashlight and bend down. The prints look fresh in the mud.
“Motherfucker,” I mutter, and stand, ready to call to Tiffany to come over and get photos. Before I open my mouth to get the words out, something moves through the trees just feet from me.
My hand goes to my gun and I swiftly move off the bridge, emerging into the forest. The light doesn’t reach beyond the trees, and mud squishes beneath my feet. I exhale, breath clouding around me, and wait.
The woods are riddled with deer. There’s a good chance that’s all it was. But there’s an even better chance it wasn’t. Adrenaline surges through me and I look around, scanning every inch of visible forest. I like the chase and find thrill in hunting down the bad guys.
Because I always win.
Twigs snap yards from me, and a dark shape jumps from the shadows.
“Police,” I order, raising my gun. “Freeze!”
The fucker takes off, and so do I, chasing him deeper into the woods, boots splashing in muddy puddles. I leave the path, holding out a hand in front of me to keep low-hanging branches from scratching my face.
I come to a sudden stop at the top of a ravine. It goes down sharply at least twenty feet, only to rise up again in an even steeper incline. The bottom is filled with a few inches of rainwater.
Holding my flashlight and gun out, I whirl around. The forest is silent, save for my beating heart. I take a deep breath, fill my lungs with air, and exhale slowly. Everything is silent.
Too silent.
I spin around, looking at my surroundings. Where did he go? Keeping the gun in my right hand, I lower my left and reach for the walkie I always wear on my belt when investigating crime scenes. I know he came out here, and I need to call for backup.
My fingers close around the walkie, but I never pull it from my belt. Something jumps down from the tree above me, red eyes glowing like embers in the night. It opens its mouth, letting out a low growl. Thick, yellow saliva drips from a row of sharp, jagged teeth.
My heart leaps in my chest, and I stand there, stunned, like a deer in headlights. And then another comes down behind me, hitting me square in the back. I pitch forward, and my gun and flashlight fall from my hands, sliding down into the ravine.
The thing in front of me growls again and then lunges forward. I duck and avoid being hit. Instead, I tumble down the incline and into darkness.
5
My body tumbles down, gaining speed and then coming to a harsh stop at the bottom of the ravine. Cold water seeps through my clothes, but I don’t have time to stop and think about it. I scramble up, looking at the top of the ravine.
What the fuck?